Putting the spark back into watching fireworks

I somehow made it through the first part of July without seeing any fireworks, and I'm not sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Of the many traditions I've carried from my childhood to adulthood, watching fireworks on or around the Fourth of July has been followed most stringently -- until this year.

The reason? My daughter is away at camp, and my wife and I couldn't get excited enough to drive to the nearest display, because we both had to work in the morning.

I'm not sure why I consider watching fireworks such an important summertime activity. Sure, they're great to see, but I've had as many bad fireworks-watching experiences as I've had good ones.

When I was little, my mother would take me and my sisters and brothers to watch fireworks in the next town over from ours. Our vantage point was the sidewalk of a very high and very old bridge that carried traffic over a deep ravine. The view was great, but the bridge was so ancient that it shook as traffic drove on it, and some of the wooden boards that made up the sidewalk would rattle.

I'd have nightmares about falling off that bridge for weeks after the pyrotechnics display.

After I got married, we would go to my wife's sister's house for the Fourth of July, and my wife's brother would put on his own display of fireworks. But the heavy smoke would cause my nose to bleed, and Dave took so long to shoot through his fireworks that whatever blood I didn't lose through my nostrils was gobbled up by the mosquitoes that happily feasted on us as we stood in a field to watch.

I guess what kept me interested in fireworks was the many good times we had. Such as those summer evenings, when my daughter was very young, where my extended family spent the day at Conneaut Lake Park, then put down blankets on the main lawn and watched fireworks explode over the lake. Or the time when Amy and I were dating, when we took a drive through the suburbs of Columbus and stumbled upon a fireworks display that we watched while sitting on a curb, with ice cream cones in hand.

The more I think about it, I guess I am a little sad that I didn't see any fireworks this year. But at least I made it through the holiday with all of my blood.